


Writer's Block

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [27]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 11:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	Writer's Block

John stared at the empty screen. Nothing. No words were coming. He got up and turned on the kettle, put bread in the toaster, leaned against the counter and sighed. No response from Sherlock who was happily dissecting something on the kitchen table. 

"Sherlock."

"Hmmm?"

"I can't write."

"Why?"

"Because."

Sherlock hummed at the - "liver, John. Because is not an answer."

"I'm just - you ever feel stuck?"

Sherlock laid down his scalpel and removed his gloves. "I used to."

"What changed?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he binned the liver, scalpel and gloves. "You."

"Me?"

"You made me realise I don't have to be doing something all the time, bored is okay, and I know I can come to you when I -"

The toast popped, but John let it go. He moved to stand in front of Sherlock and mumbled, "I need you."

"All you had to do was ask." Sherlock held John's face in his hands and looked into his eyes. "All you had to do was tell me, John."

"Sherlock. Please?"

Sherlock nodded and kissed his forehead, then whispered, "meet me in the bedroom. I have an idea that might possibly cure your writer's block."

"Oh, yeah?" John grinned at him, then turned and walked towards their room.

Sherlock shook his head as he turned off the kettle and binned the toast, then slipped off his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt, thinking of how often he reached for John when he felt off, when the voices became too loud, John could see it in his face, he just knew. He wondered if he'd ever be able to do that for John. He pushed open the door to their bedroom and found John had already undressed and was sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for him.

"John?" 

John raised his head and tried to smile. "I can't -"

Sherlock walked quietly over to him and whispered, "you don't have to."

"But -" John shook his head. "I - what good am I without -"

Sherlock knelt in front of him and sighed. "John. If you never write another word, I will still love you, still want you, still need you by my side. Don't you know?"

John tried to look away. "John. You are important to me. Not your words, not your questionable fashion sense, or your mad skills with peas. Just you. Look at me, love."

"You never -" John whispered as he met Sherlock's eyes.

"I didn't think I had to tell you. I thought you knew."

"I did. I do, it's just - I love you, too."

Sherlock nodded and kissed him softly. "Lay back, love, let me give you something to write about..."


End file.
